


Benji and Joel's Infinite Playlist

by sidnihoudini



Category: Good Charlotte
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-20
Updated: 2014-02-20
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:59:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1288684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I am a normal gay guy.  I like dick,” Benji counters, drawing his cue forward.  It hits the eight ball perfectly, and four balls snap around the table.  He even manages to sink one of his own, ball falling into the pocket as he turns to face Max.  “I just don’t like your dick.  I like my guy’s dick.  I just haven’t met it yet.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Benji and Joel's Infinite Playlist

**Author's Note:**

> Largely inspired by [this poem](http://alighthouseofwords.tumblr.com/post/47941173293/25-lives-by-tongari). It's been 10 years, I guess this is my love letter to twincest.

TRACK 1

“You’re _obsessed_ ,” Max laughs, bending at the hip to line his shot up on the pool table. It’s old and covered with chalk streaks, worn down in places, the felt completely missing in others. He glances up at Benji and adds, “You’re like a lovesick girl or something. I’m not even joking, stop laughing!”

Both hands wrapped around the top of his cue, Benji’s cackle of laughter fades into a wave of giggles as he shakes his head, and reaches for the chalk sitting at the edge of the pool table.

“You’re just a gigantic slut,” Benji replies after a second, once Max has cracked the balls, and is wandering around the edges of the table as he tries to decide what shot he wants to line up next. “Seriously, dude. You’ll fuck anything with a pulse.”

A wry grin spreads across Max’s face, cheekbones accentuated by the strange bar lighting. He snickers and says, voice low and teasing, “Not necessarily true.”

“Well, whatever,” Benji shrugs, shoulders bouncing as he watches Max move into his next shot. Max manages to sink one of his own striped balls, and one of Benji’s bright ones. “Are you just mad I broke up with you?”

Max rolls his eyes and straightens up, reaching for his tap poured glass of beer. “You didn’t break up with me, it was a mutual decision.”

“Listen,” Benji sighs, not wanting to argue about it. Again. Whoever said dating your best friend could be a good idea had clearly never dated their best friend before. He picks his pool cue up and walks around to the shorter edge of the table as he shrugs and says, “I know I’ve got someone out there who’s supposed to love me back, is it that bad I want to meet him?”

Making gagging noises, Max interrupts himself to take another swallow of house beer, and then asks, voice dripping with disdain, “Man, why do you have to believe in soulmates? Why can’t you just be a normal gay guy, like everyone else?”

“I am a normal gay guy. I like dick,” Benji counters, drawing his cue forward. It hits the eight ball perfectly, and four balls snap around the table. He even manages to sink one of his own, ball falling into the pocket as he turns to face Max. “I just don’t like your dick. I like my guy’s dick. I just haven’t met it yet.”

Rolling his eyes again, Max sets his beer down on the table edge, and says, “Whatever, Benj.”

“Whatever, Benj,” Benji mimics in a childishly high voice as he screws his face up. He only gets about half of his impression out before he’s cracking himself up, holding onto the edge of the pool table with one hand so he can laugh ‘like an idiot,’ as Max usually says.

Max lines up his next shot, and raises his eyebrows in the same direction his cue is pointing. “Well, I tell you what. Whoever your guy is? I promise you’ll deserve eachother.”

“Thanks,” Benji laughs, still shaking his head in amusement as he reaches for his beer. “I appreciate that.”

Max moves his cue, making his shot, and glances over his shoulder at Benji just long enough to say, “That wasn’t supposed to be a compliment.”

~

Benji’s standing outside the bar having a cigarette, and checking the messages on his phone.

His sister has been sending him lots of photos of her new french bulldog puppy and they’re really cute, he’s so glad that they’re not old enough to have sons and daughters and nieces and nephews quite yet. When that time comes, he’s sure he’ll have a mid-midlife crisis.

“Aw,” He murmurs to himself, smiling against the filter of his cigarette when one photo is particularly squishy faced.

Benji takes a few steps along the curb he’s balancing on, pausing to adjust his feet and flick his cigarette ash into the gutter below. He scrolls to the next photo and smiles. Maybe his soulmate is just somebody’s dog, somewhere.

“Hey, excuse me?” Someone asks from in front of him, and Benji looks up with a bit of a glare because he assumes that he’s going to be asked to stop smoking even though he’s nowhere near a door, and is also planning on throwing his butt into the garbage when he’s done with it. Some guy is looking at him, a crooked smile on his face. “Hi.”

The screen on his phone dims, and Benji nods back at the guy in greeting. He looks vaguely familiar, like maybe Benji has seen him in those massive billboard advertisements in the subway tunnels every day for weeks without ever really noticing.

“Hi,” Benji replies after a beat of silence. He takes a step down off of the curb so one of his feet are in the gutter, while the other is still up on the sidewalk.

The stranger brings his hand up to put an unlit cigarette against his lips – both dry, filter sticks to skin as he talks – asking, “Mind if I borrow your lighter?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Benji nods, feeling stupid. The guy is looking at him, still smiling kind of, as he watches Benji flick the butt of his own cigarette into the street. So maybe he lied about the always throwing his butts in the garbage. He’s not exactly Ms. America. “Sorry, here you go.”

He lights the guy’s cigarette with one hand, and pulls another one out for himself with the other.

“I just moved here,” The guy grimaces, hunching against the slight breeze. He inhales deeply, looking momentarily esctatic as the nicotine hits his system. Then he frowns, “Some jerk stole my jacket while I was on the subway.”

Half-smiling, Benji shakes his head, and tucks the lighter back into his chest pocket. “Ah, first rule of the big city. Never, ever take your jacket off in the subway. Or your pants, actually.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He laughs, looking at Benji’s face again, kind of smiling as his eyes flick up and down, from Benji’s forehead to his chin and then back up to his eyes. “Okay this is kind of weird, but do I know you from somewhere?”

Benji shakes his head and drags on his cigarette. “Don’t think so. I’m Benji.”

“Joel,” The guy replies, switching his cigarette from his right to left hand as Benji extends his for a shake. “Nice to meet you. This city is kind of scary.”

Two pumps of a handshake, and they separate. Benji nods, “I’ve lived here for almost five years. My first week was scary as hell, too. Someone stole my lamp out of the hallway when I was moving. Who does that?”

“What!? That’s insane!” Joel laughs, crossing one arm over his stomach to hold up the elbow connected to the hand he’s smoking with. He raises his eyebrows and shrugs, bottom lip pouting out as he says, “I guess there’s a very well lit thief somewhere on your floor, then.”

Grinning, Benji nods, and taps his finger to his temple. “Same floor! I never even thought of that.”

“Just call me Mr. CSI,” Joel grins back, his smile going kind of crooked as they glance at one another, and then each take a step back, suddenly shy. “Sorry, I should probably… get going, you know. I was just headed to the grocery store down the street.”

Benji nods, and extends his free hand again for Joel to take. “Don’t want to keep you then man. Good luck in your big city travels, Joel.”

“Likewise. Nice to know there’s a friendly face somewhere,” Joel nods back, shy smile still lingering on his face as he shakes Benji’s hand again and then turns to continue on down the street, still smoking the last quarter of his cigarette.

Benji stands there on the sidewalk for a second, feet heavy as lead against the same spot he was standing in when Joel first got his attention. He watches the back of Joel’s head bobbing through the crowd, tilting back every few paces to blow smoke up into the air. He watches him until he can’t see anything anymore.

Then he flicks his second butt into the street with the first one, and heads back into the bar.

~

TRACK 4

Benji tucks his t-shirt back into the front of his jeans, and tries to squint through the group of girls blocking the stage in front of him. 

They’re all wearing super tight, really bright colored dresses, tall white boots with heels thicker than Benji’s forearm, and, to be totally honest, he feels kind of stupid. Like, his mom made him wear this patterned button up shirt even though he tried to explain that this was a rock show he was going to, not one of those popular ones that his friends really liked. 

He’d unbuttoned the shirt after leaving his house so his Dead Boys t-shirt is now really obvious, but still, it’s a button up paisley shirt he got for Christmas last year. There’s no hiding from that.

He hadn’t fought her too much, though, cause it wasn’t often that real punk bands came through Wisconsin, and he isn’t missing The Ramones for anyone or anything – paisley button down shirt or not. He’s been buying all their records this past summer, too, really enjoying their songs, even though he’s only allowed to listen to them with headphones on ‘cause his dad doesn’t approve, and his mom doesn’t want his sister to hear it.

Once he graduates school, he’s thinking about following The Ramones across America. It would be pretty cool, and with the part-time job he’s saving money from now, he could probably make it all the way from Wisconsin to New York. He might not be able to get back home, but he could stay there, in the big city like Sid Vicious and Johnny Ramone had.

In front of him, the opening band finishes their set, and storms off stage. 

Before they make a full exit, the lead singer rips his guitar strap over his head and throws the instrument against the wall before he goes, and Benji watches, raptured, his mouth hanging open as the guitar drops to the floor and bounces, making a loud noise.

“You like the Dead Boys too?” Someone asks from beside him – Benji turns to the side to see another guy about his age, and he’s wearing jeans similar to his own and a Cramps t-shirt. The shirt looks homemade, but if Benji hadn’t of been able to catalogue order his Dead Boys t-shirt, he probably would have had to handmake his, as well. “I bought Sonic Reducer on a seven-inch on Friday, it sounds really great!”

Benji smiles and glances down at his t-shirt, and then back up at the boy.

“They’re my favorite band right now,” He shrugs, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Well, besides The Ramones, I guess. I might follow them to New York City next summer, after I graduate.”

The boy’s face lights up, eyebrows jumping as he claps his hands together in surprise, saying, “That’s my dream! My sister followed The Mamas and The Papas two years ago, but she came home pregnant. My mom made her give all her records away.”

“That sucks,” Benji frowns, thinking about it. He’s glad he can’t get pregnant, at least, he’d sure hate to lose all of his records. “My parents don’t really like good music, either.”

Nodding, the boy glances up at the still empty stage, and then back to Benji. He smiles, his mouth going kind of crooked looking, and says, “I want to take that guy’s guitar.”

“Won’t he come back for it?” Benji asks, trying to go up onto his tiptoes so he can see the stage over the group of girls still in front of them. Sure enough the instrument is still sitting there, totally forgotten, with the side stage door cracked open as cigarette smoke wafts in from the alley behind the venue. “I dunno. Someone would probably see us.”

He turns back to look at the boy but he’s gone, and Benji only gets a glimpse of his shoulders moving through the crowd.

Surprised, Benji hurries forward without thinking about it, pushing through the group of girls so he can follow this new guy. When Benji breaks through, he sees the boy standing in front of the stage with both of his hands braced against the edge of the mic platform. It’s a pretty half-assed venue, but they have great live shows here, and the fire marshall hasn’t caught them yet.

“I’m gonna take it,” The boy says to him, glancing sideways, like he knew Benji would be there waiting for him even though he hadn’t seen Benji follow. “Then we can run to the bathroom. Okay?”

Breath a little harder to catch from the sudden wave of adrenaline washing through him, Benji just nods and raises his eyebrows, sneaking a glance over his shoulder once more. There are lots of people around, but they all seem like they’re interested in other things – the girls are trying to figure out a way to get back into the bands hotel rooms, and the guys are trying to figure out a way to get the girls before they leave.

Benji looks back, and says, “Okay. You grab it, I’ll follow you.”

“Joel,” The boy says, grinning at him, a chip in his front tooth.

Frowning, Benji self conciously straightens the hem of his button up again. “Huh?”

“My name is Joel. I wanted to tell you in case someone catches us,” He shrugs, like he’s saying ‘my bus was five minutes late’ or ‘I couldn’t decide what greeting card to get you for your birthday.’

With one short glance back at Benji, one of his hands reaches through the space between the audience barrier and the edge of the stage. The guitar is only a few inches away from the edge, at most.

“Wait, what?” Benji stutters, going to ask if Joel really thinks that someone will catch them, if he thinks that then maybe they should wait ‘til later, cause he doesn’t want to get kicked out before The Ramones even come on, but then Joel’s wrapping his hand around the neck of the guitar and running away, trying to hug the instrument close to his chest as he ducks around the people still lingering at the front of the stage.

Something in the back of Benji’s brain tells him to _move_ , so he does, hustling behind Joel, ducking through two different groups of people as they hurriedly make their way through the smoky, dark, red walled venue. He saw the bathrooms way back by the entry doors when he’d come in, so he heads in that general direction – especially once he loses Joel’s head in the crowd.

He reaches the men’s bathroom and almost kicks the door in with the weight of his body as he comes to a stop in front of it by running into it will his full force. It flies back on its hinges and hits the inside of the bathroom wall which startles not only him, but the two guys doing drugs off of the sink counter, as well.

“Sorry,” Benji breathes, chest heaving, watching as they grimace at him and wipe their noses on their sleeves before moving to shoulder past him. The door swings closed behind them, and Benji, wide-eyed, creeps across the black and white checkered floor, bending over to peer underneath the doors of the three toilet stalls. He whispers, “Joel?”

Benji is worried when he gets to the last stall, and doesn’t see any feet. What if Joel didn’t make it back here after all?

Just as he’s thinking that, the last stall door swings open and almost catches him in the nose. He feels a hand twist into the front of his shirt and yank him forward, pulling him in, the sound of a door slamming loudly behind him. When Benji manages to look around and see what’s going on, he’s surprised to see Joel grinning down at him, breathing heavy with the guitar held safely at his side.

He’s standing on top of the toilet, one heavy leather boot on either side of the seat, his hand braced against Benji’s shoulder for balance. His fingers are warm even through Benji’s button up, and curled against his skin.

“That was totally scary,” Joel laughs, letting go to sit back against the toilet tank. He’s breathing way harder than Benji, probably from running scared since he was the one with the guitar in his hand. He leans back against the wall, and swallows hard. “Look how cool this is, though!”

Benji takes a step forward, lifting the guitar out of Joel’s hands when Joel holds it out. It’s definitely broken in a few different places, but it’s also still really, really cool. A real guitar used by the lead singer of The Germs and everything!

“You better hide it under your bed so your mom doesn’t steal it like she did your sister’s records,” Benji laughs, glancing up as he hands it back.

Joel shakes his head and smiles when Benji looks back curiously, watching as Joel takes another big breath of air and gulps, smiling again.

“You have it. Maybe you can steal me one of The Ramones’ guitars next summer,” He says, moving his foot forward so he toes Benji’s knee. Benji really wishes that he hadn’t worn this silly button up shirt, especially when he looks at Joel in his black Cramps shirt and his old blue jeans held up with a thick, studded belt.

Not knowing what else to do, Benji nods and smiles.

“Anything you want,” He says, and tightens his grip around the neck of the guitar.

~

TRACK 12

“I’m just overjoyed for you, Benji. You guys seem really happy,” Paul’s wife says, her teeth bright and white as she smiles over her silverware, a goblet of red wine cradled in one pale, dark manicured hand.

Benji looks up from where he has a little bit of steak left sitting on his plate, cut up but not eaten, and smiles at her, reaching for his tumbler of whiskey. He feels like a fraud. This tumbler was a wedding gift, and there’s a small set of initials etched into the front of it to prove that. Benji usually coveres that part up with his thumb.

“It’s all smoke and mirrors,” He laughs, shaking his head, making it all sound like a joke even though it isn’t.

Christine returns his smile, but shakes her head a little as she takes another sip of wine, and moves her hand across the top of the ivory table cloth to wrap her fingers around Paul’s, their wedding bands matching in the low light of the dining room.

Benji looks away, burned, and throws the last swallow of his whiskey back before standing up, taking his glass with him as he glances around and asks, “Is everyone good for drinks?”

The resounding answer from around the table is “yup,” so Benji heads into the kitchen with just his own glass, the hand not holding his drink lifting up to scratch at the back of his head. He feels the slow ache of a migrane coming on, be it from the drinks or the circumstance.

He pushes through the swinging kitchen door and finds Joel at the sink, washing his hands or something, both of his eyebrows drawn in concentration as his hands move underneath the water pouring from the tap. Benji’s mouth twitches in a grin as he quietly sets his glass down onto the nearest counter and sneaks across the stone floor, wrapping his arms around Joel’s torso from behind.

“What the?” Joel startles, splashing a handful of tap water on himself as he jerks to look down at the arms wrapped around his middle. The tattoos are familiar, the jewelery even moreso after spending late nights discarded on his nightstand, and he can’t help but laugh as he leans his body backwards, hand reaching to turn the water off at the same time. “Benj, no. We can’t, this is bad.”

Benji squeezes his middle a little tighter and shakes his head _no_. 

He knows that Joel feels the movement of his skin against the nape of his neck as he moves, burying his face in the spot where Joel’s neck meets his shoulder, pressing his forehead there, and then his cheek. The skin he finds there is so warm, so familiar.

“Just one hug,” He whispers, the familiar smell of Joel’s cologne sending a wave of warmth over him, one that isn’t from the whiskey, one that starts at his head and showers all the way down to his toes.

Smiling, Joel wipes his hands off on a dishtowel and then turns around, the worn fabric still wound between his two hands. He looks at Benji’s face, his tired eyes and the way they’re the color of the liquor they’ve been drinking all night, the red splotches on his cheeks and how the color is darker on the higher parts of his cheekbones, and his hair, how short it is, fresh after the new haircut he got just last week.

“I miss you. But we shouldn’t do this,” Joel whispers, accidentally letting go of the dishtowel over Benji’s shoulder as Benji backs him further into the counter. They’re dressed in similar suits, Benji realizes, his black and Joel’s charcoal. “Benji, please.”

At the tone of Joel’s voice Benji pulls back, a sweet, sad smile on his face.

“Why couldn’t I have found you first,” He says, maybe to Joel, maybe to himself, maybe to nobody in particular at all. Joel’s face softens as they watch eachother, and then he frowns, reaching forward to brush a piece of lint off of the front of Benji’s suit.

The moment turns into ten, and then twenty, and then more, until Joel finally steadies himself, bracing one hand against Benji’s chest. He nods at the kitchen door that leads back through to the dining room over the line of Benji’s shoulder.

At the pointed expression on Joel’s face, Benji frowns and turns his head to look, too.

“It’s time to pour yourself another drink,” Joel instructs quietly, but not before leaning in to press a soft kiss against the corner of Benji’s mouth. He’s an inch away, Benji can smell the whiskey lingering on his breath he’s so close. “Then you need to go back in there, with your friends who aren’t me.” 

Frozen by the soft pressure of Joel’s lips, Benji nods, not knowing what else to do as Joel nods too and then smiles once more at him. It’s sad and small and it makes Benji’s stomach hurt in a way that he’s too familiar with as Joel ducks out from his embrace.

Benji watches him leave, walking back to the dining room with a line of water across his back from where Benji had pressed him up against the kitchen counter. The door swings closed behind him, and then he’s gone.

He isn’t sure how long he stands there for, frozen in the last place he had touched Joel. He stands there until the dining room door snaps open again, and makes him jump.

“Babe, what’s up? Are you coming back in?” His partner asks, sounding confused, concerned.

Benji runs a hand through the hair at the back of his head, and nods. It’s short and unfamiliar and he really regrets getting so much cut off the last time he was at the barber’s.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course,” He says, forcing a smile. “Just getting a new drink.”

~

TRACK 18

“I fucking _hate you_!” He screams, and Benji ducks instinctively, raising his hands up over his head to duck from the shower of old clothing and cassette tape cases that rain down on him. “Take your stupid shit, Benji, I don’t want it!”

Benji gets himself upright just as another cassette tape comes hurtling at him out of mid-air. He slips a bit on the wet grass, mud starting to get tracked up from his boots even though he manages to duck just in time for the tape to fly over his shoulder.

When he glances over his shoulder, the case is wedged into the ground a few feet away.

“Listen, I _said_ I was sorry!” He yells back, a little pissed off himself, especially as he watches his favorite leather jacket fall from the window. It drifts through the air, dancing with the three story all American pie style house a theatrical backdrop against it. Benji growls, and yells, “What do you want me to say!?”

Upstairs, in his bedroom, Joel pushes his window up even more, the last few inches before it gets jammed in the frame, and glares down at Benji. 

Even though he’s a few floors below, and the soft bedroom lighting behind Joel obstructs the details of his face, Benji can still see that it’s twisted with anger, especially as he hangs out the window and throws another arm full of Benji’s belongings down onto the grass below.

“My sister was right, you know!” Joel screams down at him. Benji looks up hopelessly, holding both hands up in the air as he watches Joel stare down at him, clearly furious, his fingers wrapped tightly around the ledge of the white painted window sill. “I’m too good for you!”

That pisses Benji off in one second flat – he can feel his blood pressure spiking as he growls and stoops down, picking one of his vinyl records up off of the grass. It’s covered with dew on one side, the cover sticky with grass, and he really has to hurl it hard to get it to go in Joel’s direction.

“Your sister’s bulimic, she hates everything!” Benji screams, watching as the vinyl separates from its case in mid-air and richochets off of the side of the house, landing in Joel’s mother’s prized potted plants directly beneath his window.

Benji’s words are enough to send Joel into another tailspin. He disappears from the frame of the window for a moment, and then comes back with the stuffed animal Benji won him at the state fair last summer, back when they had been deep in love.

“Guess what, Benji!?” He yells, voice cracking as he shakes the stuffed animal like a hostage.

Benji throws both his arms up over his head again, body convulsing with anger as he watches Joel rip the head off of the stuffed animal. He yanks it clean off, and then shakes it like a salt and pepper shaker, watching Benji’s expression as Benji watches the stuffed animal’s insides fall like drifting snow.

“You _asshole_!” Benji yells, and then he’s running for the rose trellis nailed up the front of Joel’s parents house. His feet hit the ground hard as he jumps against it, and then starts trying to climb up it to get to Joel’s window, his breathing heavy, body driven by a combination of adrenaline and fresh anger.

He looks up when he’s halfway there to see Joel’s head hanging out of the window. Joel is looking down at him, his mouth twisted, clearly pissed off as he continues to shake the be-headed stuffed animal, even though its insides have already fallen out.

All of a sudden the front door of the house slams open below them and Joel’s mom comes hustling out, wrapped up in a pink bath robe with curlers in her hair and the television remote in one hand. She sees Benji half up her trellis and totally loses it, stamping across the damp lawn as she yells, “Get down off of there! Joel! You cannot see him anymore!”

“Mom!” Joel yells, dropping the stuffed animal head in surprise as he reaches down, trying to pull Benji up by the arms before his mom manages to get him from below.

Benji kicks his feet, letting Joel take the majority of his weight as he’s lifted through the window. He falls on top of Joel on the floor, chest to chest as they roll back against the carpet, normally dark blue but now covered with bits of cotton batting, the string that held the stuffed animal together before Joel’s righteous beheading.

“I didn’t kiss anyone else,” Benji says, breathing heavy as he looks down into Joel’s face. He shakes his head, and adds, “I swear.”

Joel’s face is still tight with anger, but as his eyes flicker over Benji’s face, Benji’s expression, something deeper than his hormones recognizes that this is Benji – his Benji – and boy, he’d know this guy anywhere. He blinks a few times, clearing his head, and they both snap out of it as they hear Joel’s mom starting up the hall stairs.

“You gotta go,” Joel breathes, heaving Benji up and off of him as they trip over one another, trying to make it back to the window. Joel’s hands are on Benji’s back, palms sliding, trying to get him to move faster, trying to get him back towards the window. “My mom is gonna _flip out_.”

Benji nods and throws one leg back over the window sill, over the pieces of clothing that hadn’t quite made it through when Joel had been busy emptying his bedroom out earlier.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” Benji says, cheeks still flushed from the argument as Joel grabs him by the face and kisses him hard, exhaling a breath loudly against his cheek. “I’m sorry for saying that about your sister.”

Joel nods and then helps him get back over the window sill, leaning over it as Benji descends the trellis again, body heavy enough for it to pop off of the house siding in a few places. When Benji’s a few feet away from the ground he jumps, and manages to land on both feet.

He bends down and picks up one of the rose buds he knocked off the trellis during his hasty descent, and holds it up for Joel, smiling, dimples in both cheeks. Joel laughs, and Benji takes off across the clothing covered lawn just as Joel’s mother throws his bedroom door wide open.

~

TRACK 25

Benji closes the front door behind him, and sets his makeshift work bag down on the floor beside the hallway mirror. He lost his knapsack during his commute on the train the other day, so since then he’s been working with a cheap plastic grocery bag, even though he has to replace it every few days cause the handles keep breaking.

The front hallway is pretty dim, no sense in turning the lights on when he’s so late and nobody else is around, anyways. 

Benji picks up the mail addressed to him that’s sitting on the little shelf just before the living room – just a bank statement, and his credit card bill – then throws them down onto the dining room table as he makes his way through the apartment.

“Hey babe,” He smiles, coming through the living room, pausing on his way through to the attached kitchen to stoop down and kiss Joel on the head.

Joel is sitting on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. There are notebooks opened up all around him, broken spines and pieces of paper and torn magazine articles, the random notes that he regularly scrawls on take-out napkins and restaurant receipts and ripped open empty cigarette packages.

“Hey Benj,” He greets, tilting his head back as Benji kisses the bridge of his nose next. He drops his pen onto the coffee table to bring both of his hands up, touching the back of Benji’s head, the nape of his neck, the starting curve of his shoulders. “How was work?”

Benji shrugs and stands up again, still holding onto Joel’s fingers as they separate.

“Long. The developer wants to release this game before second quarter. Not gonna happen,” He shrugs, as Joel finally lets go of his hand, and goes back to the article that he’s been working on for two days so far.

Joel’s life as a writer was a strange one, although so far Benji has only ever seen the parts of it that revolve around him sitting on the balcony chain smoking and talking to the cat. There had to be other things that he did, Benji figured.

“Tell him to suck it, then,” He says, stretching back against the couch as he extends his arm in the direction of the kitchen. Benji exhales a little ‘yeah right’ at the suggestion. “I made spaghetti for dinner, there’s still some in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

Benji nods and resumes his path towards the kitchen, one hand on his stomach as he nods, saying, “Starving.”

“Just to warn you, it’s not very good. I ran out of your dad’s canned tomatoes,” Joel shrugs, sounding like he’s going to say something else before he cuts himself off with a yawn and stretches some more, reaching back towards Benji again. “Oh and your sister phoned, she invited us to dinner at her new place on Sunday.”

Already in the kitchen, Benji cracks the fridge open, and immediately zeroes in on the bowl of saran wrap covered spaghetti sitting on the second shelf. Canned tomatoes or no, he’s so ready to eat something that didn’t come from the free-for-all cafeteria at work.

“And? What did you tell her?” Benji asks, turning his head so he can direct his voice through the doorway as he peels the saran wrap off, and throws it in the sink. “I’d rather watch the game on Sunday.”

Joel appears in the doorway, then, rubbing his text weary eyes as Benji puts his bowl of spaghetti in the microwave, and punches the minute speed button.

“I just told her you’d call her back,” He shrugs, stepping in beside Benji, reaching to pick the saran wrap out of the sink before he balls it up, bends over to open the cupboard underneath the counter, and throws it in the garbage. “I told her you wanted to watch the game, but she said you could just watch it with Frank.”

Making a face, Benji watches his spaghetti rotate in the microwave, and sighs, “Frank. Fuck.”

“He just got a new sixty five inch TV,” Joel coerces, wrapping his arms around Benji’s middle. He smiles and rests the side of his face against Benji’s chest as the microwave lets out three sharp, short beeps, and stops.

Kissing the top of Joel’s head again, Benji frowns, and then sighs, “Sixty five inches, man. Salt in the wound.”

Joel laughs, and pinches Benji’s stomach through his t-shirt as he pulls away.

~

TRACK 29

It’s raining so hard that it feels like someone is just throwing buckets of water on him as he hurries down the city sidewalk, not much to keep the rain water out other than his jacket and the soggy newspaper he’s holding over his head.

This weather totally caught him off-guard. He had been coming out of the mall, fresh from a job interview, and he’d just been slammed, managing to get all of a block away from the shopping center before the front of his white work shirt was just soaked right through to the skin.

Benji heaves open the front door of the first coffee shop he walks by, and drops his newspaper to the little metal café table sitting outside.

As he goes to step fully through, he walks into someone else coming out. The guy he walks into is holding a coffee in one hand and looking at his cellphone in the other. He seems totally ambivilent to the rain torrenting down outside, and the fact that Benji just ran shoulder first into him.

“Sorry, man,” Benji apologizes anyways, glancing over his shoulder as the guy pushes open the door that he just came through. It hasn’t even shut all the way yet, but he still uses his elbow to push it the rest of the way open, so he doesn’t have to compromise one of his hands.

Still distracted with trying to dry off, Benji heads up towards the order counter, and Joel heads further outside into the rain.

~

TRACK 34

Backstage is always hectic after the show. 

It isn’t crazy, exactly, it’s just _hectic_ , the same way that a grocery store could be sometimes, everyone on their own mission, their feet heavy on the ground as they grind to get it done, and go home.

Someone takes Benji’s guitar for him before he’s even off of the stage, and then he’s getting ushered back into the dressing room, where he finds the rest of his band beginning to trickle in, everyone still covered in sweat and stage makeup.

“For serious, that opening was a little rough,” Paul says, still out of breath as he comes into the dressing room wiping his face off with a towel. He snags a fresh bottle of water off of the Doritos and water catering table, and collapses into the leather couch closest to him, dropping the towel over his face.

Billy screws up his face, breathing heavy but not quite as out of breath as Paul is. He pushes the sweaty hair off of his forehead and shrugs, other hand heading for a bag of chips as he says, “Sounded alright to me. Way to drop the mic though, Joel.”

“That was a legit accident!” Joel says, sounding honest for once, cause it was usually ‘I couldn’t hear myself’ or ‘Benji distracted me’ or ‘the drums were off,’ cause when they didn’t have a permanent drummer, it was really easy to blame whoever was sitting in. “It rolled underneath the drum platform, I couldn’t reach it!”

Wiping his own face off with a towel, Benji laughs and grabs two more bottles of cold water, throwing one in Joel’s direction as Joel frowns and sits down on the arm of Paul’s couch, wiping his forehead off with his forearm.

“That’s what happens when you show off, right?” Benji grins, enjoying the moment as he shakes his head and cracks his water bottle open, both ears still ringing from the show. The crowd was _loud_. He brings the bottle up to his mouth to take a drink but then back tracks, laughing, “Joely got nailed with some karma!”

Rolling his eyes, Joel cracks his water open, drinks half of the bottle in one go, and then, wiping his mouth off with the inside of his t-shirt collar, says, “Whatever, Benj.”

Benji smiles, looking at his brother, and he just _knows._


End file.
